Alaska Republik-ARC (28 page)

Cassidy waited.

72

Battle of Refuge

Janeki felt a shiver run up his spine from his ass to his skull. He had watched it all unravel. The easy win over a bunch of rebel deserters had turned into a battle of considerable proportion, with devastating losses.

Less than an hour ago he realized he no longer had the troop strength or equipment to strike at Chena. He couldn’t obey his orders. But perhaps he could prevail here.

His troops were taking light weapons’ fire from his left and rear flanks. So far the Indians and traitors on the mountain hadn’t realized the distraction and acted upon it.

“Who is my adjutant?” he shrieked over his shoulder.

A thin, pale lieutenant hurried to his side and saluted. “Co-Colonel Janeki, I am your new adjutant.”

“Who in God’s name are
you
? I’ve never laid eyes on you before.”

“Lieutenant Petrovski, I…I was the assistant supply officer, Colonel. We did meet once, it was back in—”

“What is happening on that mountain? Are we facing new people or did the savages and deserters on that mountain flank us? That is all I want to know. I don’t care who the hell you are or if I’ve ever seen your witless face before this moment!”

“I think we’re losing more men than we can afford, Colonel.” The lieutenant’s voice was suddenly crisp and professional. “Please explain if and how I can help you change that situation.”

Janeki felt another chill course through him. This would all be on his head if he failed. Taras Myslosovich had had the good sense to stop a bullet, but he would have been even more worthless now than he had already proven.

“Get me the provost marshal, quickly! I must rescind an order.”

“Colonel, the provost marshal is at the aid station. He was wounded when the Republic of California Air Force strafed our column. The Freekorps executive officer was killed outright. They were in the same car.”

“No! I didn’t know that. Thank you, Lieutenant Petrovski…”

Good, he was going to need those mercenaries. They could die
for
Mother Russia here rather than at some worthless village on the Yukon.

“Colonel, we’re losing our ass here. We need to pull back and regroup.”

“They told me to stand down, you know,” Janeki said in an absent manner, trying desperately to make sense of the situation without screaming.

“
Who
told you to stand down, Colonel?”

“St. Nicholas Redoubt, of course. Who else has that sort of authority?”

Petrovski stared at him for the longest time before bellowing, “Cease fire! Cease fire!”

“No!” Janeki screamed, feeling the wrath pour out of him. “Not yet!”

“We are no better than bandits without the full backing of St. Petersburg!” Petrovski looked around, seeking allies. Soldiers stared back at him curiously but none ventured closer than they already stood.

“He is ordering us to wage illegal warfare! Don’t you see? We can quit, we can go hom—”

Janeki’s bullet hit the lieutenant in the chest, a perfect heart shot at two paces. Petrovski fell backwards onto the rocks, already dead.

“Do we have any more traitors who wish to join him?” Janeki bellowed. The rage cleared from his mind and he assessed his situation clearly. “Sergeant, count off every other man here. Send half to the left and the other half to the right. We have a mission to accomplish.”

The headache was back.

73

9 miles east of Delta

Riordan saw the twin flashes of light that told him the occupants of the truck had just surveyed him with binoculars and now knew more about him than he did about them. He hoped they were not enlightened, but if they were… He loosened his carbine in its scabbard and unsnapped the flap over his pistol as nonchalantly as possible.

He hadn’t felt this alone since shipping out of Boston at the age of fifteen—a long time ago. He allowed himself to wonder if N’go had survived the fighting before concentrating on the threat at hand.

The battered truck with a homemade dwelling bolted to its back came to a complete stop. He would have to go to it in order to parley or pass, or both. If this were a real highway made of macadam and smooth as a baby’s butt, he would simply accelerate past them without a nod.

But this was the RustyCan and consisted of a plethora of small boulders that would dump a motorcycle quicker than it would ever lend support.

I,
Riordan decided,
am thoroughly screwed.

He gently twisted the throttle and moved slowly up to the truck…and saw the pistol pointed at him.

“Good evening, Major Riordan,” the man behind the gun said.

Riordan glanced up at the bright sky. “How can you tell it’s evening?”

“The trees are dark and the bird calls are less strident. One can almost hear the Earth exhale as the Sun nods at it to pass on.”

“Poetry has always eluded me,” Riordan said, becoming nervous under the man’s measured tones. “Perhaps we can discuss the situation?”

“Of the evening, or yours?”

“My situation, if I am to see other evenings.”

The man laughed and the gun did not waver.

“You really don’t remember me, do you?”

Damn
, Riordan thought.
There is no way I could be this man’s father and nothing else bears such gravity
.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. Should I?”

“Less than ninety days ago, you and your men roared into a small town in the First People’s Nation, stole everything my friends had from animals to wheat, beat me senseless and left me for dead.”

“You were the man in the grocery store who called us pirates, thieves and desperados, aren’t you?”

“You
do
remember!”

“I remember your spirited defense, but not your face.”

“Did you hear what I screamed when you rode off in your command car?”

“No. I wasn’t aware you spoke.”

“Because you didn’t care what I, or any of your other peaceful victims, had to say.”

“Trust me, I’m listening now.”

“I’ll
never
trust you, Riordan. I screamed ‘I’ll find you!’ at the top of my voice.”

Riordan glanced at the horizon where the road rose to a ridgetop. Beyond lay mountains dark with trees and snow-capped peaks. Then he stared down at the irregular pieces of rock constituting the Russia-Canada Highway, and sighed.

“Well, sir, it seems you have. What now?”

74

Battle of Refuge

“Del, we got ’em pinned down,” Captain Joe Coffey said, breathing hard. Gunpowder streaked his face and a slice had been taken from the sleeve of his combat blouse.

Both men crouched in a semicircle of rocks that offered excellent protection.

Colonel Buhrman nodded at his arm. “Did that hit flesh?”

“Nothing more than a nick, Del. Thanks for asking. They can’t charge up the mountain for fear we’ll flank their position. So we’ve got them cornered. Whattya want to do?”

“Where’s Major Smolst?”

“Leading his men. They’re trying to cut the Russians off on the east.”

“Brilliant, then we have them boxed with nowhere to go.”

“That’s what Heinrich and I decided about twenty minutes ago.”

Buhrman grinned. “The best part of this situation is that I get to make battlefield promotions and the army has to go along with it,
Lieutenant Colonel Coffey
.”

Coffey grinned. “You are the
biggest
asshole I have ever known. You will use every ploy at hand to realize your objective. Have I ever
not
gone above and beyond for you?”

Buhrman sobered. “Of course not. And you’ve never been able to say ‘thank you’ the first time around in your whole life. You’ve earned this, Joe. It isn’t
just
manipulation.”

“Thanks, Del. I really appreciate it. It would have taken another two years to get this through normal channels.”

“Naw, we’re in a war again. Keep your shit together and you’ll be a bird colonel in three months.”

“You still haven’t said what you want us to do,
Colonel
.”

“I want a runner, preferably one of Major Smolst’s men, to go up that mountain, make contact, and have the Dená charge downhill in concert with our assault on the enemy flanks. Think that will work?”

“Hell yes! The Russians will have to surrender or die.”

75

5,000 feet over Russian Amerika

“This is Delta Refuge, do you read me? Over.”

Captain Gerald Yamato thought the transmission was a cruel prank at first.

“This is Delta Refuge, does anyone hear me?”

Jerry keyed his microphone. “This is Captain Yamato of the Republic of California Air Force. Who is in charge there?”

“Captain Yamato! This is Max Demientieff. We fought together when we hit them mercenaries, remember?”

“Max! I’m so happy to hear your voice and know you’re okay. We’re on our way to hit the Russians attacking you. Over.”

“We got people out there, Jerry, be careful you don’t get them too. Uh, over.”

“Is there anyone in your front lines with a radio? Over.”

“Yeah, hang on for a minute.”

The radio burst with static and he turned down his volume. The 117th was no more than five minutes from the battle; he needed coordinates.

“This is Sergeant Haroldsson of Dená Recon. What do you need?”

Jerry couldn’t believe his ears. “Magda? Is that you?”

“Jerry!” The catch in her voice tore at him. “Where are you?”

“Closing on the battle at five thousand feet! We’re going to hit the Russians, but Max said there were Dená elements close to the Russians. What’s the story?”

“The lines are all messed up and we’re probably within fifty meters of the Russians right now.”

His heart flew into his mouth. “You’re
that
close to the Russians?”

“It’s a war, my love. They damn near killed me yesterday with an artillery barrage. We do what we must.”

“Magda, get away from the front lines, please!”

Despite the poor connection, the starch in her voice came through loud and clear.

“Don’t
ever
ask me to let someone take risks in my name that I won’t take myself! Don’t you know me better than that, Jerry Yamato?”

“Of course I do. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you. I fear for you.”

“You would soldier on. But I promise to be careful.”

“Thanks. We can see the dust and smoke for the barrage. Where do we hit them?”

“At the bottom of the mountain, where all their armor is concentrated. We’ll take care of the rest.”

“Consider it done. I love you.”

“And I love you, over.”

Colonel Shipley’s voice sounded softer than it had at the beginning of the flight. “Captain Yamato, you have the lead on the first attack.”

“Thank you, sir, I sincerely appreciate that. Permission to reconnoiter the area, sir?”

“Permission granted, Captain.”

Jerry dove toward the base of the smoke cloud where it intersected with the RustyCan. He swept over the Russians so quickly they didn’t have time to direct any fire at his plane. Their column looked pretty well shot up to him.

He banked left and right, following the highway while digesting what he had seen, and flew over a second, much larger, column. He stared incredulously at the long line of tanks and armored troop carriers. Just as his heart was sinking into the pit of his stomach, he realized they were not displaying Russian insignia.

“First People’s Nation?” he blurted.

“What was that, Captain?” Shipley’s voice sounded taut. “Where the hell are you? We’ve completely lost visual on your craft.”

He pulled the P-61 up as sharply as he dared while machine gun fire erupted from dozens of locations in the column. Two rounds put holes in his left wing. Jerry took a deep breath.

That was too damn close!

“Colonel Shipley, there is a First People’s Nation armored column less than ten miles from the Russian position. It outnumbers the Russians by four to one.”

“Who…” Shipley began and then faltered for a moment. “Whose side are they on?”

“Ours, I think. But they still put two holes in my left wing. They weren’t expecting friendly aircraft.”

“Friendly aircraft, hell,” Shipley said with a snort. “They weren’t expecting any aircraft at all! Tell me about the Russians.”

“They’re bunched up and hurting. But we have to make sure we don’t hit the sides of the road; they’re engaged in hand-to-hand combat there.”

“Roger that. Good work, Captain.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jerry knew there would be a citation for this in his service jacket, but he didn’t really care. His war had transcended nations; now it was completely personal.

“Gentlemen,” Shipley said, “you all heard the captain. Hit everything in the middle of the Russian parking lot but don’t shoot near the edges.”

A bevy of comm clicks answered him and the 117th dove to the attack.

76

Battle of Delta

Provost Marshal Senior Lieutenant Kubitski screamed at his men to take cover when the Californian aircraft went over. Private Ilyivich stood watching as the plane buzzed into the distance.

“Get your dumb ass under cover!” Kubitski screamed. “Did I tell you it was permitted to move?”

His bandaged head throbbed where the cannon fire from the earlier strafing run had clipped his scalp.

“But the plane didn’t fire, Lieutenant—”

“There will be more planes, you stupid bastard. Now get under cover!”

As his men went to ground he sprinted toward Colonel Janeki’s position. Ten minutes after the colonel shot his new adjutant, everyone in the column knew about it. This had to be ended.

Bullets skitted past him and took cover. They were being flanked and Colonel Janeki was still obsessed with going to the top of this damn mountain. Fifth Armored had been Kubitski’s life since he was sixteen and a sub-private.

The battlefield commission came as a surprise; he just thought he had been doing what they trained him for. The promotion to provost marshal was an even bigger surprise; he hadn’t thought he was hard-assed enough for the job.

He glanced about, seeking his men. Three feet behind him a bullet ricocheted off the fender of an armored car. He let his training take over and watched for the next shot.